Man, Get Yourself a Woman

Special thanks to lonewolf68alpha, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this big 'ol honker of a piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.

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Even after everything our species had been through, there were still crackpots and mad scientists out there saying, "We were so close!"

That's kind of a sex joke, which means it's kind of a terrible one, too. That's the world I was born into.

Most of my life could be boiled down like so: cum a whole lot and try not to think about how fucked everything is. Farah had changed that for me -- the second part, anyway, and definitely not the first. We'd been able to talk about things. We'd been able to stare into the abyss a little bit without spiraling out or giving up. She'd been the smart one; then she'd gone away. That had left me stuck between two ways of living. I hadn't known how to do either one by myself. I'd known how to cum. I'd kept doing that.

I woke up on a Wednesday, and the Male Guilt actually wasn't so bad. I was, ironically, distracted by the fact that I wasn't full to bursting, and that my erection wasn't throbbing like an enraged beast. It was a special day; I'd made an appointment at the local shelter to see if I could find myself a woman. That meant I didn't have to make my morning deposit until later, and that, in turn, meant I hadn't been fully stimmed up before bed.

Unfortunately for me, Male Guilt was the lesser evil those days. Farah was gone. I was alone in a luxurious apartment that I obviously didn't feel like I deserved; I wasn't about to count the house AI shard or my personal wellness monitor as company. A lot of people did; sometimes I envied them. You could hardly read a story or post on the net without somebody talking about, or to, an AI like it was a real person.

Farah had had a good relationship with them both, plus with her own health AI -- lazily spelled "Healthee" and pronounced just like the regular word. She was the reason they had names. I slipped sometimes and used them. Farah had named my Healthee "Timmy," and had never told me why. It had been some kind of a joke. It hadn't felt like a clever one, but I wasn't one to judge. The house shard had been "Lexa." I'd changed its voice since. I'd known a woman's would do things to me without Farah there -- things I didn't want to have happen.

"Healthee" was a fair-enough compromise. "House" was better -- even less intimate.

Instead of feeling guilty that morning, I was annoyed -- annoyed, sad, and lonely. That wasn't a great way to start the day, either. Male Guilt was shitty, but it reminded me of those old-world stories about people who hadn't had good medical care. Their bodies would get fucked up somehow, and then they'd just get used to the pain. They'd still go to work; for me, that was an alien notion stacked atop another. Still, the general idea of background pain made sense to me. The sadness and loneliness were different. They were worse.

Cumming still helped with them. I felt like it shouldn't have, so then I felt some more Male Guilt.

Thinking of work triggered Male Guilt for a lot of men, too. For me, that morning, it made me think of Farah. Almost everything did. I wondered where she was -- what fancy building or bunker -- and thought about how she was trying to keep the world glued together with her "logistics analysis" skills that I'd never really understood. I'd tried a few times, but I was an old dog at forty. I hadn't had to learn many tricks, and if I'd ever had the potential, it had long since withered away.

"Good morning, Paul," Healthee said. House chimed in with the same right after.

"Minimaaaaaaaaal," I groaned out. I was sick of having to do it every single morning, but it was a price to be paid.

Two unpleasant recognition chimes sounded. "Reminder," House said, "you're scheduled at Shelter Designation LOCAL-TWO at ten hundred hours. That is only one hour away. Please expedite your morning routine."

"Auto-breakfast," I groaned, rolling out of my large, comfortable bed. "Option... fuck, seven I guess. Timer, uh, bathroom stuff plus wardrobe plus two I guess." The AIs knew so much about me that that all made sense.

"Acknowledged," House replied. "Please proceed to bathroom." Healthee chirped moderate satisfaction at the choice of meal. The two of them were helicopter coparents, and based on their relentless pleasantness, I was pretty sure they fucked whenever they weren't up my ass.

That's just a joke, though. They're not people. They're not real. It was important for me to know that -- to keep knowing it.

I went on autopilot and stuck my cock in the extractor. I was about to start fucking when Healthee chimed the warning-slash-reminder. Just because my erection wasn't rabid didn't mean I didn't have one. Likewise with the urge to cum; it was still there, just not overpowering. I grumbled my recognition and relaxed into my morning piss. The rear penetration felt less sexual than normal; it definitely woke me up a little. The shower routine made me sleepy again, and then my first mouth-cleaning delivered its parting burst of minty freshness, putting me back on track. It'd fade before breakfast. Science was really something.

Minimal mode spared me the usual chipper wardrobe advice. Given the "weather" -- that's another joke -- I went with a basic black T-shirt and matching sweatpants, plus those clever boxer briefs pretty much every man wears these days if they're not going commando. After more than twenty years of good behavior, I didn't have to go into chastity; that was nice. I got to focus on comfort and ease-of-access. That was the funny thing about being a man. You got locked up tight unless you were a model citizen, but then also, everybody wanted to make sure your cock was easy to reach.

In the kitchen, I complained with my mouth half-full. "This doesn't taste like seven."

"Given your lack of morning release," Healthee said, "adjustments were made."

I shrugged. "Okay."

Healthee and House pinged their recognition. If they'd been real people -- if -- then it would've been happy, and maybe a little relieved. They weren't, though. It was all science to keep me "happy," though "stable" was probably a better word.

The clever science stuff above the kitchen sink cleaned my mouth again. The second minty blast would be much longer-lasting.

The private transport pod was waiting, linked to the apartment. I understood. I was full of cum that had been promised to the shelter. They didn't want me strolling around outside, even though Healthee was always pestering me about going out more. It didn't insult my intelligence by referring to "fresh air" and "sunshine," like in those old movies, but it was the same idea.

I flicked on a game in the pod. I was fine at them -- not great. I didn't do multiplayer stuff often. Farah hadn't cared for them. That made them a safer escape. I'd been playing them too much since she'd left. Healthee had opinions on that, too. My exercises every day mostly shut it up. I was very fit. I would've been fit without the exercise; that's just how it was for everybody. I was an old dog in a new dog's body, and would be for another twenty years at least. Healthee was convinced the exercise was good for my mental health, though. I disagreed, but wasn't smart enough to argue.

"Destination," the pod AI said, breaking ten minutes of near-silence from the duo. Healthee had transmitted the "Minimal" command to it. That had been something, at least.

I shut off the game, got out, and walked down the connecting hallway. I emerged into the waiting room. A real live person was waiting for me, because everything about shelters was serious business.

She was a mutie; I knew it right away. It's a terrible word, and I felt shitty for thinking it. No matter that she was more beautiful than those old-world supermodels and actresses. I knew, because I didn't feel the special urge. I could've fucked her, and probably would've enjoyed it, but that was just the default male mode.

She was beautiful, though. I don't want to take that away from her. She could've been twenty or sixty, but she looked twenty. Big eyes, soft skin, full lips, full breasts that defied gravity just enough, a trim figure that still suggested an hourglass... she was one of the many versions of perfect that science had distilled, collected, cataloged, and then fucked with until the world had practically fallen apart. Her ancestors had gotten lucky with their bits and insides, or at least had dodged the worst.

Her cobalt, form-fitting medical outfit accentuated most of her virtues, and lent a particular flavor to the whole package. For her, the vibe was nurturing and approachable. I hoped that was a good sign.

She approached me, but let me set the terms from there. I reached out my hand for a handshake. She wasn't offended at all. It was brief, but cordial. I didn't want to admit how good it felt to just be touched, even if she was a mutie.

"Paul?" she asked. "I'm Suzy. I'm going to be your personal assistant today while you're here. Anything you want or need, you just let me know."

"Thanks," I said. "I really appreciate it. You guys have hard jobs. Thanks for everything you do."

"Aw," she said. She didn't make it too babyish or condescending. "And here I thought your file was too good to be true."

"I try," I said.

"That's all anybody can do," she said. Her deep purple eyes expressed endless sympathy for the women at the shelters -- and there were so, so many of them.

I could tell she was dealing with her work AI; she juggled it expertly, never giving me the impression I'd lost her attention. "So, first things first," she said. "Let's make that deposit. We're very happy to have a full, fresh load from you today -- and, if things go well, it'll be very helpful later. Would you like me to assist?"

Male Guilt flared. "You don't have to," I mumbled.

"I want to," she said. "I really mean that."

"Okay," I said. "Yes, that would be nice."

She smiled warmly. "Great. Any preferences? Oh, right -- uh, I don't have any 'special equipment' down there, but of course we've got any artificial one you might like, and basically everything is on the table in terms of assistance. I don't want to brag, but I am fully certified, and I've even gotten a few commendations."

She was very diplomatic; she didn't outright say that my cock had to go into the extractor. That was the line between "assistance" and something more.

"I think... I want to feel you," I said. "Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she insisted. "Tongue? Fingers?"

"Uh, fingers," I answered. I looked her over, making a spot assessment. "Maybe the whole hand, even, if you can't reach."

Suzy assessed me right back. She was average height for a mutie girl -- about five eight -- and I was well over six feet. I didn't think any of my DNA came from combat models, but that would've been more about width anyway -- shoulders, chest, and limbs. I wasn't sure how it would've affected my asshole, or what was nestled all around my rear passage.

"Possibly," she said. "We'll see once I get in there. Any other preferences? I know it can be delicate."

I hung my head. I was thinking of Farah. It helped that Suzy looked so different. Farah had been a "Persian" beauty, which she'd told me had used to be a country or some region. Suzy wasn't. I wasn't sure what she was; the lighter-skinned girls and girl-muties didn't really have set names. That's one of those things that a thinker would think about, I think. I didn't.

"I'm sorry," I said. I kept going before she had a chance to lecture me again. "I'm in a rough place. I know what I like, but there are memories."

She nodded her understanding. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know," I said with a shrug, "but I'm actually really full, so... I think maybe we should just handle it."

She nodded again -- a little eagerly, which felt shitty, but for which I couldn't blame her. She ushered me towards the extraction room. "Tell you what," she said. "A little love and tenderness never killed anybody. If it's wrong, you can tell me."

"Thank you. You're treating me really well."

"You deserve to be treated well, Paul. You've been treating everyone else well for over twenty years. We're all in this together."

Male Guilt flared again, and I tried to force it down. It helped that I needed to cum, and that felt shitty too. So many things felt shitty. It was shitty that cumming didn't.

Once we were in the room, I stripped down except for my socks. "It's okay," I told Suzy, and both she and my Healthee took my meaning. She went from professional to a different kind of professional. That's not very helpful; she went from avoiding contact to being all over me. As I penetrated the extractor, she was stroking my body all over, offering encouragement and even communicating attraction.

"That's great, Paul," she said. Her voice had completely changed. It was soft, soothing, engaged, and just a little bit in control. I knew it was more science, but I let it work on me. I was lonely, and Suzy was kind -- or at least really good at pretending. A thinker would've had thoughts about that. I actively tried not to. I also wasn't one of those nutjobs from the net who insisted that muties weren't real people. I felt like a shitty person most of the time, but at least I wasn't a raging asshole.

"Do you want me naked, Paul?" she asked. "I'm happy to do that for you."

"You're beautiful," I replied immediately, "but I'm not really going to be able to see you."

"Okay," she said. She skipped the pitch about holos and monitors; she was very sensitive to what I was actually trying to say. "Can you slow-play it for just a minute? To let me get inside of you?"

I nodded. It took some discipline, but I stopped myself from fucking with abandon. It wasn't so bad; it was like I was teasing myself. My body ached, but it bought that idea. It didn't outright punish me for holding off -- not yet.

When Suzy's warm, lube-coated fingers started teasing my asshole, I groaned and bent over. The extraction machine adapted quickly, providing me with perfect support. It caressed my nipples and began applying a gentle, rhythmic massage to my lower abdomen. Suzy hadn't oversold herself. She was very good, and she had the first finger in in no time. I groaned again and started fucking.

"I didn't hit it, though, did I, baby?" she asked.

"No," I moaned. "Deeper." I was too far gone to care about the little pet name.

One finger became two, then three, then four. For a brief while, the stretching and pressure slowed my race to climax. When her whole hand slipped in and found the target, my body slumped completely onto the extractor and short-circuited. It didn't know whether to fuck or be fucked. Suzy caressed my large balls with her other hand. She let me breathe through it.

"You're doing so good, Paul," she said. "Relax and enjoy it. Do whatever feels good, even if it's nothing at all. You'll give me your cum. I know you will. You're a good boy, and Mommy loves you."

Everything's a kink when you're about to cum and getting worked over by an expert. That's just how it goes. She didn't hit my actual kinks perfectly, but it didn't matter. She did what she did perfectly, and that was more than enough. After less than a minute under her masterful control, my body began rutting into the extractor. The machine knew exactly when to start squeezing and fluttering like I was making it cum, and Suzy knew exactly when to increase the intensity and pick up the pace inside of me. Her work AI and the machine's AI were linked. They were, in some ways, all one big machine. That was just one more thing I didn't think about.

My cock felt like it was a foot long and ready to burst like an actual bomb. Suzy cooed, shushed, and even started to moan herself at the very end. Everything she did coaxed the cum out of me.

I let myself go completely. I came hard, and what started in my cock, prostate, and stretched asshole radiated out to my whole body. I gave everything I had to the extractor -- to the shelter -- and it was a ton. In exchange, I received mindlessness and pleasure. Even after she was out of my ass, Suzy wasn't done. Her aftercare was spectacular; she stroked me and kissed me exactly where I needed it. She told me I was good, and for a few precious moments, I believed her. I didn't feel loved, exactly, but I felt useful.

The post-comedown was awkward, but only because of me and my guilt. Suzy read me like an open book. She transitioned from the fantasy back to reality like a pro, even as she washed herself off at the nearby station. Once I'd cleaned up and dressed, she gave me the hug I was too embarrassed to ask for. That was halfway between the transition from lovers to friends to customer-and-assistant. It should have felt strange, but it didn't.

"Thank you," I said again. "You were incredible."

"Not too much with the Mommy stuff?" she asked.

"You made it work," I said.

She took the compliment and the unstated note graciously. "Would you mind if I filed that?" she asked.

"For you, or the shelter?" I asked.

"Both, ideally," she said, "but it's entirely up to you."

There's some stuff the AIs don't swap as freely as old-world STIs. Kinks and fetishes are on the list. Those, people are allowed to share -- or not share -- themselves.

I shrugged. I felt too grateful and guilty to refuse her anything. "Both is okay," I said, "though I don't know if I'll be back."

"Ideally, not for at least a year," she said, "but you never know. Your happiness is important to us, Paul. Speaking of, let's get you some refreshments."

Those, I was willing to accept without being a mopey bitch. The flavored water was crisp and cool, and the prepackaged snack circle was a cut above what I usually ate at home. I could tell it was heavy on the stimulators -- the stuff that made men make more cum. Then it was time for the real reason I'd made the trip.

Suzy sensed my hesitance. "I'm not going to lie to you, Paul. It might be really hard."

I nodded. "It will be. Sorry in advance."

"Don't apologize for being a good person," she said. There was real steel in her voice. "Never that. I cried every day for six months, and I'm still on a stabilizing regimen."

"So you actually...?"

"I do," she said. "I'm mostly in relations up front, but they need all the help they can get, so they hired me for a hybrid position."

"I hope they pay you well," I joked.

"They do," she answered seriously. That was one thing that had changed from before. Farah had talked to me a few times about the sudden, radical labor supply shortage all those years ago, stacked atop the sudden need for long-term care for so many women. It had been squarely within her realm of study and expertise. She'd walked me through it; it had been one of the easy concepts to understand. Everything was easier to understand -- for me, at least -- when it had something to do with the world getting fucked.

"Okay," I sighed. "Let's do it."

Suzy never stopped being kind, but she did become much more professional. Some of the detachment, I had to assume, was to help herself. We went into the stacks -- not fully, but along a walkway where we could see the most readily accessible cubes. They did it in rows of five. Suzy and the shelter's AIs had the first five ready for me, but they were still opaque. Displayed on the front side, facing us, were the bios. That was pretty terrible all by itself, even though I knew what was inside the cubes would be worse. They weren't just bios -- not really. They were almost memorial holos -- gravestones -- for someone who was pretty close to being gone forever. There just wasn't enough cum. There was never enough cum.